


fold the map (and mend the gap)

by lismicro



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 23:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15351249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lismicro/pseuds/lismicro
Summary: One morning, Doc calls.She’s packed and on the plane within the hour, being briefed on her brand-new identity. Where Wynonna got a silver revolver and sunglasses for her first op, though, she gets a down jacket and....a ten-gauge?“So...Purgatory. Where’s that?”(Spy AU, Wayhaught, and no spoilers.)





	fold the map (and mend the gap)

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: Some indulgent nonsense before the new season. Title from Bon Iver’s “29 #Strafford APTS".

“You’ll exit in the basement of 16th and Preston. Careful, there’s probably a few of them still down there.”

Waverly rolls her eyes and scoots a little further down the vacated elevator shaft. This is the reason she chose combat boots instead of Chucks today—much harder to slip and fall to a grisly death. 

“Yeah, so you’d think you could’ve given me more than a pistol before sending me down here, huh? Jerk.”

Before Jeremy can answer, she drops to the roof of the elevator and carefully pries the emergency exit cap off. It’s just enough room to slide down, and then she’s in a dirty concrete hallway, sloping down into darkness.

Progress.

Footsteps, coming around the corner. She turns and puts two bullets in the guy’s head before he has time to cry out. Glass breaks from somewhere above her, the building rocking with the impact of an explosion many floors up. She needs to leave, now.

“Sorry, man.” She mumbles at the body, and then scrambles to the end of the hallway. A few strikes of her shoulder against the one, flimsy wooden door, and then she’s barreling out into an old utility tunnel. It’s a scene straight out of a horror movie, cobwebs and dripping corners and all of it dark as pitch.

“Aw shit! This is disgusting, Jeremy, where the hell am I?”

“I told you, underneath 16th and—”

“Preston, yes, I know, but when do I...resurface?”

“Um, eventually? I think.”

It takes her another hour to slog through the maze of steam pipes and abandoned chambers before she finds the manhole cover, and Waverly bursts into the open air, sucking cool air into her lungs again. The sound of nighttime traffic has never seemed sweeter. 

A beat-up pickup truck is waiting for her on the street. Waverly tosses her empty pistol and holster onto the floor of the passenger side and slumps onto the cracked leather. Rosita pats her gingerly on the shoulder. God, she must smell like the ass end of a sewer.

“I’m going to sit in the bath for three days minimum. Clean out Wynonna’s entire damn whiskey stash. And then I’m going to murder Jeremy.”  

“You and me both, Earp—but don’t tell Wynonna I said that. Let’s get you home.”

They peel out, heading north.

 

*

 

Life with Black Badge had taken her by surprise.

She still remembers that fateful day she found out that spies and secret agents weren’t just the stuff of movies. It was the coldest winter in thirty years, and every building in town closed down early to brace for the approaching blizzard. Despite the circumstances, Waverly had been determined to celebrate Wynonna’s twenty-seventh birthday in style, and braved the cold to get supplies from town.

When she returned with party hats and margarita mix, Wynonna was there. Dragging a headless corpse into their woodshed.

It was a pretty memorable birthday.

That day, she’d been forcefully introduced to her sister’s chosen profession, one involving guns and headquarters and poking into places she didn’t belong, danger that hummed in Wynonna’s eyes and lingered in her steps whenever Waverly saw her off on another mission. Wynonna had tried countless times to convince her to go into hiding, but if the universe thought it could scare Waverly Earp into submission, the universe had another think coming.

That, and when it became clear that she could lend Wynonna a hand, could help keep all of them safe, leaving the new life that has been thrust upon her had never crossed her mind. 

Tonight she’s in the living room, digging into old files and photos of maybe-enemy agents caught by camera. It’s one of those Wynonna projects that doesn’t seem to ever end. Is that blurry figure on the Top 10 Most Wanted list or just an elderly grandma in a shawl? Does the Prime Minister’s mansion have twelve decorative gargoyles or thirteen? Is it too far past her bedtime or is she finally going crazy? Who knows.

The sound of the door startles her out of her reverie. A familiar thumping of boots across the linoleum.

“Heyyyy, Waverly! Where you at, kitty cat?”

Waverly leaps up and crashes headlong into Wynonna at the door, nearly knocking them both into the counter. She straightens and socks Wynonna in the gut with all the force she can muster.

“Ow, Jesus! Hello to you too, what the hell was that for?”

“You didn’t say goodbye when you left last time, you ass.”

Wynonna sighs. She looks tired and worn but otherwise no worse for wear, hair bearing the imprints of being tugged into a too-tight bun, a shadow of rinsed-off makeup worn a little too long. But she’s smiling, and she feels entirely, wonderfully whole when Waverly wraps her arms around her and hugs as tight as she possibly can.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. Lucado’s been riding my ass lately about the Brazil job, and when the call came it was a madhouse just trying to get everyone together. I’ll make it up to you somehow, I promise.”

“Okay, you being back in one piece is enough for me. I won’t say no to a pedicure, though.”

Wynonna grins at her and tugs them both back towards the living room, crashing on the couch with a groan. Waverly clambers onto the armrest, reaching up to grab a bottle of liquor from the cabinet above, and settles back against Wynonna’s middle.

“You’re squirmy today. Did you stay in all day or something?”

“Yeah. But why not, Nona?” She shrugs, wiggles her eyebrows. “Get it? Because your name is Wy—”

“Oh my God, my baby sister is so lame.” Wynonna laughs and tilts the bottle towards her, neck first. The first sip burns. “So catch me up on what’s been happening around here. Heard from our favorite nerd that you’ve been busy.”

Waverly pulls a face.

“I was just the cleanup, Dolls took care of the real bad guys two blocks down while I crawled through a nineteeth-century basement. Had to throw out a brand-new pair of boots.”

“Seriously? You helped take down a transnational smuggling ring and you’re complaining to me that you don’t see enough action? Someone’s getting spoiled.”  

“Shut up.” Waverly mumbles. “Why can’t I go on assignment with you? You know, do the whole secret, sexy, undercover agent thing?”

“Um, because you literally can’t function without running water. Because I know that you’ve been cheating on your physicals because you hate running.” Wynonna reaches over to pry her boots off, flings them in the direction of the front door. Her gaze softens, and Waverly’s eyes close as she feels her sister’s arm wrap around her shoulders.  

“And because I’d never put you in that kind of danger. You know that. You’re my only Earp.”

Waverly hums. They’ve had this talk before.

“You’re in that kind of danger every day. I’m just saying, maybe I should be the one to protect you for once.”

“I never asked for this, you know that.” Wynonna mumbles. She’s trying to drink lying down and mostly succeeding. “It’s already on me for dragging you into this in the first place.”

There’s a lot in Wynonna’s past she doesn’t ask about. Call it sisterly loyalty, but when Wynonna walks through the world with this much of a burden on her shoulders, Waverly is not one to sit by and allow it to put her in the ground. Or drive her to drink—er, more than she usually does.  

“Besides—” Wynonna hauls herself up, half-sitting on Waverly now, and sets the bottle down on the ground.  “Apparently tomorrow, I’m gonna have to slather myself with petroleum jelly and practice squirming through a twelve-inch PVC pipe. Standard undercover bullshit.”

“Oooh, kinky.”

Wynonna hip checks her, hard, and rubs the bridge of her nose with a sigh.

A long, long time passes.

“Wave?”

“Hmmm?”

“I won’t leave without saying goodbye this time.”

Waverly tightens her grip.

 

*

 

She buys three more bottles of whisky as summer fades into autumn, and saves a diplomat’s daughter on vacation. It’s the kind of find that makes Dolls clap her on the shoulder with a rare grin, and Doc raise an appraising eyebrow in her direction.

Then one day she gets a call from Rosita and heads home for a weekend trip. Wynonna’s been sent to Belarus this time, with a frankly alarming cache of weapons and wardrobes at her disposal, and an uncertain timeline that might involve a sham marriage. It’s really best not to question it.

Waverly drops a St. Christopher around Wynonna’s neck and waves her off at the landing pad. The whirring blades of the helicopter draws water to her eyes.  

 

*

 

One morning, Doc calls.

She’s packed and on the plane within the hour, being briefed on her brand-new identity. Where Wynonna got a silver revolver and sunglasses for _her_ first op, though, she gets a down jacket and....a ten-gauge?

“So...Purgatory. Where’s that?”

 

*

 

Turns out, Purgatory does resemble what the name suggests, with one small exception: for a place that’s supposed to bridge heaven and hell, Purgatory sure does lean real _damn_ far into hell territory.

Population: tiny. Weather: absolute shit. Charm: negative infinity, and going down every time some drunk trucker leans in a little too close to her at Shorty’s, the only attraction in the whole town.

The third time Waverly’s car gets stuck in the snow (Black Badge issue, a 2002 Subaru with suspicious grooves in the trunk), she calls Rosita before she calls the tow truck.

“Hi Rosita! I was just wondering if you could tell me why Doc officially, one-hundred percent hates my guts.”

She knows the drill. It isn’t Waverly’s first call home.

“Doc wasn’t the one who got you assigned to Purgatory, babe. That was Wynonna.”

“What?!”

“Look, we got intel that there’s a former Soviet sleeper agent somewhere. It’s important, but it’s not something they’ll send the cavalry after—not yet. Wynonna called and asked for, and I quote, _Waverly’s smart, junior-college ass_ , to go.”

The instant she sees Wynonna again, she’s going to wrestle her into a snowdrift.

“Why would they send a Russian spy to some bumfuck town in the literal middle of nowhere?” She kicks a tire. It doesn’t budge. “You know what, I bet this is just some job Wynonna set me up for so she’d get me out of the way.”

“It’s an undercover op, man. It’s exactly the kind of job Wynonna would also take. Or Dolls, or Doc. And they all agree that you’re perfect for it.”

“As a backwoods Barbie! In the Canadian outback!”

It’s quiet in the Purgatory woods. A tight sort of peace that sets all her senses on edge. It might have been beautiful, seeing the evergreens and pines coated in the first sugar snow, but being so far away from everything and everyone does not lend itself to comfort. The stillness feels stretched taut around the sleepy inhabitants of Purgatory, a bowstring waiting to be plucked.

If Wynonna’s taught her anything, it’s that instinct nearly always matters more than intel. And if she’s only been here for a few weeks, who knows what else Purgatory is hiding?

“Trust me, Wynonna didn’t have to push very hard to land you this job. I know it looks sleepy and gross—”

“—and cold, and tiny, and covered in these little brown stains—”

Seriously, any place where spitting “tobacky” was a _sport_ was somewhere she needed to be far, far away from.

“—but something is definitely up. Just stay alert. You’ve got your backstory worked out?”

“Ugh, yes. I’m here to help my aunt Gus and get away from the big city, living the glamorous life of a small town waitress. So exciting.”

“Atta girl. Tell Gus I’m a big fan of her work during the Cold War.”

“Too bad, she’s out of the country. I’m all by my lonesome in this craphole, so you should definitely come visit.”

“Eh, I think I’ll pass—oh, before you go, though, Doc mentioned something about a lead at the police department. I’m sure he’ll patch you in soon,  but maybe check it out once you’ve hauled yourself out of the snow.”

Waverly’s brow furrows. The snow has started falling again.

“The police department? Isn’t it incredibly obvious to hide out there?”

“Again: Doc says jump, we all ask how high. Intel checks out, though. You know he has ways of making people talk.”

Ugh. It makes Waverly’s stomach turn just thinking about it.

So when the tow truck arrives an hour later, Waverly directs them straight for the heart of Purgatory.  

 

*

 

The police station chief, Randy Nedley, is about the most Purgatory-esque person Waverly can imagine. He also might be the most familiar face in town—showing up like clockwork to every happy hour she’s had to staff, a shit tipper but a good presence to have as the late hour rolls around. They’d struck up a conversation a few times, and she’s heard all about the staffing shortage and lack of “young blood” in town, but it’s never crossed her mind that he would be hiding something.

Nedley is out when Waverly arrives. But one of his new deputies is still at the desk.

 

*

As it turns out: Deputy Sheriff Nicole Haught, from boots to Stetson, is six feet of _wham bam thank you ma’am_ , half of her hidden under the wooden desk and the rest of her still managing to make Waverly’s breath catch in her throat.

The first time she walks into the station, Officer Haught looks up with those doe-brown eyes, and a slow widening of her smile makes it known that Waverly has her full, undivided attention.

Damn. Maybe Purgatory isn’t a complete wreck.

It’s not the first time Waverly’s done this, tossed her hair and batted her eyelashes, but it’s the first time she’s felt this much guilt. Nicole takes down her report of a petty theft at Shorty’s, offers her a cup of coffee and a seat in the back. But then she sits down next to Waverly, hands clasped around that cowboy hat in her lap, and murmurs how sorry she is, how much she understands being the newcomer in town, and if Nicole can help she needs only to ask—

Waverly walks out more mystified than when she went in. If Nicole Haught is a Russian spy, then she’ll eat that Stetson right off her head.

She can’t say she’s made an friend, or even an ally, in Purgatory yet. But she has a pretty good idea of who’s going to be the first.

Waverly drives home and begins poking through the data she swiped from the station. The strange guilt surges up again before she forcefully tamps it down.

Try as she might, though, the case is suddenly not the only thing on her mind.

 

*

 

After that first meeting in the police station, Nicole Haught’s become something of a regular during the lunch hour at Shorty’s. She sits at the bar and picks at her fries, and helps Waverly lift heavy boxes.

Wynonna would be laughing her ass off if she were here.  

It takes about three days of this, and watching Waverly politely push drunk guys out the door, before Officer Haught offers to patrol outside in the evenings after her shifts.

It takes her maybe three seconds to accept. Not long afterwards Waverly finds herself catching glimpses of a squad car at the window as she washes up glasses and prepares for the late-night drunks to start stumbling in. It’s a familiar smile that walks into her bar, honest-to-goodness tips her hat, and heads right back out into the cold.

It’s nice.

One day, it starts pouring down snow just before sunset. Waverly swings open the front door to find Officer Haught still there, sitting in her squad car and blowing on her hands.

She shakes her head, waves her through the door.

“Hey, get in here! Shit, you must be freezing. They say there’s a blizzard coming, everything in town is shutting down early.”

“Hi, Waverly.” Officer Haught smiles, breathless. Snow has collected on the brim of her hat and the slope of her uniformed shoulders. “I know, even Nedley’s cleared out early. Anything else weird happen today?”

“Nothing yet, and once this storm hits I don’t get paid to care anymore. But you should definitely come in before you freeze to death.”  

The door clicks shut against the gusts of wind, and then it’s just the two of them shivering in the empty bar. Shorty’s only gets marginally more charming this way, empty and stain-free.

“Well, since you’ve been our free bouncer for weeks now, I figure you deserve a drink or two. I’m guessing....whisky? On the house, of course.”

Officer Haught laughs this bright, gentle laugh, and sits down at one of the barstools. She sets her hat down and Waverly watches as she pushes strands of dark red hair out of her eyes.

“You’re really good at this hospitality thing, you know that?” Her eyes linger for a second on the bottles of liquor, and Waverly’s hands on them. “Alright, thank you. But only if you have one too—on me.”

It sets off a slow pang in Waverly’s chest, how earnest and cheerful she looks, this little empty bar In the low lamplight. She slides the whisky glass over and pours one for herself.

“Cheers, Officer Haught.”

“Please, it’s Nicole.”

Nicole drains the glass and, completely unnecessarily, licks the residue off her lips.

Well. Waverly turns to pour her another, tries and fails to hide the smile on her face.

Distractions.

 

*

 

A few months after the Great Purgatory Stakeout begins, there’s a murder.

The victim is an older woman everyone calls the Blacksmith, because she lives in an old forge on the very fringes of civilization, and for the metalwork that occasionally emerges for sale. No one knows her real name. From what Waverly can gather, few people even know what she looks like. And of course, because of that, rumors swirl through every corner of town; Waverly hears all the whispers in the café, the drunken musings between beers at Shorty’s, small crowds lingering at the police station.

Nicole hasn’t shown up for a week.

The entire town seems to be on edge, and as she pores through the old police records, Purgatory’s small-town charm seems to have sponsored more than a few not-so-small murders. It’s almost eerie, seeing men strung up from trees and bleeding out in the forest. Crime scene photographs stained with age. Witnesses showing up and dropping out into oblivion.

It's a new type of investigation she’s unprepared for. So different from running through city sewers.

Another week passes, and then one day Nicole shows up in midafternoon, long before happy hour, and collapses into a bar stool.

She looks exhausted. Hair tumbling out of her braid, hat knocked onto the counter. Dark circles and slumped shoulders aside, though, she looks at Waverly with the same soft smile Waverly’s come to associate with three fingers of whisky and stories about Purgatory’s many misdemeanors.

Look hard enough, and Waverly even sees a glimpse of guilt.

She says nothing, just pours and waits.

The clock ticks by.

“It’s awful.” Nicole finally says after her second drink. “Some hunters found her just lying in her own blood. No signs of a break in, no clues, nothing. I even slept in there one night.”

“That is really terrible. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s just...they’re bringing in investigators from the city, and I just know they’re gonna step on my toes and piss Nedley off so...I’m just bracing for all the bullshit that’s gonna come raining down in the next few days.” She pounds back another shot. Waverly quietly sets the entire handle next to her. “Which is terrible, because I should be more worried about the woman brutally murdered in our backyard. Or the fact that we can find out literally nothing that would bring in her killer.”

“Yeah, and you’ve had a week from hell, it sounds like. Cut yourself some slack. I couldn’t do what you do.”

And she couldn’t. All on her own, without resources, without a government-backed secret spy division to lean on. She’d have fled Purgatory screaming a week in without them all. Hell, even given all of that, her own investigation has come up short. Nothing but blood and a body in the morgue.

(Purgatory doesn’t even have a real morgue, she’s found out. They leave their bodies in a _meatpacking freezer_.)

She has Dolls, Doc, Rosita, master agent Wynonna Earp—and Nicole just has...Nedley. And maybe Waverly.

And all Waverly’s doing is supplying her with increasing amounts of alcohol. Pretty sure “destroying Nicole’s liver” is not in her job description.

“How are you holding up, by the way?”

“Me?” Waverly shrugs. “Nothing’s changed around here. I hear the whispers but even if you count out the rumors that it’s a demon curse or Bigfoot, I don’t see the killer coming to Shorty’s for a drink.”

Nicole hums. Suddenly, she reaches for her hand, and Waverly just sits there and stares at it for a second before squeezing back. It’s the first time she’s deliberately touched Nicole in weeks—maybe ever, actually.

She breathes in, and out. Tries to focus on their talk instead of the spreading warmth of Nicole’s touch. The only thing she can compare it to is the pull of gravity, how hard that task is.

It’s only when she feels Nicole’s warm fingers that she realizes how cold her own are.

“Still. This entire town’s up in arms, I don’t want you to stumble somewhere and get a load of buckshot in the face. So just...keep your doors locked, your lights on, all that stuff. You have an alarm system at home, right?”

And then all Waverly can see is Wynonna’s face, and all the goddamn times she’s gone down this same path with her.

It’s not Nicole’s fault that she’s touchy about this in particular, but still, Waverly suddenly pulls her hand away.  

“I can take care of myself, trust me.” Nicole looks hurt, and damn it, Waverly’s keeping a mental tally of all the times she’s had to lie to Nicole and now she gets to add one more to that list. “I might be new but I’m not gonna do anything dumb.”

“Of course you’re not.”  Nicole says, carefully. Her eyes dart back and forth across Waverly’s face. “I just meant that I’m never gonna forgive myself if something happens to you.”

“Don’t you think I should be saying that to you? I mean, you’re the one with the gun and the danger and the sleeping in a barn where a woman was killed. I think that warrants a little protectiveness on my part.”

She keeps her tone lighthearted, but her trembling hands have to betray her, because Nicole’s staring at them now.

It’s not fair. If she’d been quicker, gotten some sort of lead faster, then maybe Nicole wouldn’t be in the line of fire right now. So really, this is all her fault.

The little Wynonna that seems to live in her head now protests, but Waverly squashes her down real quick.

“Listen to us.” Nicole shakes her head. “Sorry if I’m being dramatic—”

“You’re not.”  

“—this is just really freaking me out here. I can’t get her face out of my head. You know, this is my first murder case, I don’t want to fuck it up.”

Nicole’s pager beeps, and she’s standing, sweeping up her hat and stepping off the stool. She stumbles a little from the alcohol but her eyes are still clear, and she’s close enough that Waverly can smell the freshly starched fabric of her uniform.

“Call me if you need anything, okay? Hopefully this will all blow over and we can all get back to normal.”

“I will.” Waverly says. Her throat tightens with all the force of a fist. “Take care of yourself, Nicole. Come by Shorty’s, or my house, whenever. I’m here for you.”

And then she’s immediately folded into Nicole’s arms, pressed tightly to her chest in a fierce, warm embrace. She’s the perfect height to press her face into Nicole’s shoulder and ignore everything but the strong beat of her heart.

“Be safe.”

She would say it back, tries to, but Nicole is already out the door.

 

*

 

As soon as Waverly gets home, she reports the murder to Dolls, jots a little note. Something weird, she writes.

Something in progress.

 

*

 

“Look, I know it hasn’t been that long, but I’m getting a drawl. Listen, I said _y’all_ to a group of rowdy jerks at the bar yesterday. Oh God, what am I becoming?”

“Waverly, I guarantee you I’ve gone through a hell of a lot worse. Just stick it out for another few weeks and we’ll extract you. The window of opportunity for an attack is closing anyway. Doc thinks we might’ve gotten the wrong guy.”

“Or maybe it’s me. Maybe I just super suck at this and I should stop while I’m ahead.”

“You’re doing fine. Sometimes things just don’t work out, you make mistakes, whatever. Yeah, it’s a pain in the ass, but you gotta take the bitter pills and just move on.”

“If I spent three months in Purgatory when there’s not someone actually here, I’m gonna kick Jeremy’s ass from here to the highway.”

Rosita doesn’t say a word. Waverly gasps out loud.

“Here to the highway?! Who the hell says that?!”

She hears cackling laughter on the other end of the line, and then Nicole steps out of the police department doors and waves in her direction.

“Hold up, gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”

Rosita signs off with a smacking kiss. Nicole walks up to her, hand her a cup of steaming liquid.

“I’d call this coffee but lying’s a sin, so here’s your cup of hot bean water.”

“Oh, so tempting.” Waverly take a sip anyway. It’s about as bad as Nicole says. “Shall we?”

It’s a Friday evening in Purgatory, and somehow instead of following the town example and drinking themselves stupid, Waverly’s dragging them both to City Hall to dig through (more) old records.

Crazy nights.

But it’s worth it, between the gory photos of vigilante killings and witness testimonies of weird shit happening in the Purgatory woods. She finds boxes of old police reports and Nicole abuses her authority to let Waverly take them home.

“So. Thanks for coming with me on that utterly engrossing adventure. I hope you had fun getting ink all over your hands.” She sits in the passenger seat of Nicole’s cruiser, trying to muster up the courage to head back into the cold winter air.

“Nah, it was really refreshing, actually. Who knew Purgatory had the highest per capita rate of unexplained maulings?” Nicole’s eyes crinkle in the corners when she laughs, wisps of red hair falling free from her braid. “Oh God, that’s awful. I should not be laughing about that.”

“Still. I promise, the next time I ask if you want to hang out, I will actually have something planned.”

Nicole shrugs. Waverly hesitates, and reaches over the console to wrap her in an awkward, half-armed hug. Still, she feels Nicole’s body tense momentarily, then an exhale soft as a whisper before she relaxes into the embrace.

When Waverly pulls away, the confident grin is back, and she steps out of the cruiser with her body humming with warmth.

 

*

 

Later, she returns to the evidence boxes and finds a picture of a much younger Blacksmith raising a glass with a group of others at Shorty’s. Waverly checks and yep—everyone in the picture is now dead.

Funny how these things go.

 

*

 

The next day, Waverly’s doorbell rings at the crack of dawn.

It’s Dolls, because Dolls doesn’t sleep and thinks, therefore, that no one else does.

“Got your note. Wanna talk?"

It’s a weird as fuck, making coffee in her fuzzy socks while a secret agent with at least three concealed weapons on his person sits awkwardly at her kitchen table.

She briefs him while pouring the coffee, and he butters their toast.

“I’m just saying, I’ve been poking around their old files and there’s been more than a few strange deaths in Purgatory in the last decade. I’m not saying it looks like a dumping ground, but it sure seems too convenient to be coincidence.”

“We’re in the woods.” Dolls shrugs. “People hunt, people hike, accidents happen. Or maybe it’s people looking to start over by coming out here. Honestly you get more reformed criminals drinking themselves to death in places like Purgatory, instead of people actively looking to start a life of crime.”

He sets down his knife and fork and leans in close to her.

“We’re watching. Not moving in yet, but we’re not going to leave you high and dry, Waverly. If something doesn’t turn up, we’ll have you out of here in a flash. So hang in there.”

“You can just say it. You think I’m not finding anything because there’s nothing to find—or I’m just doing a really bad job.”

“I don’t think anything of the sort. You win some, you lose some.”

“Rosita gave me that speech already.”

“Rosita’s a smart girl.”

They eat in silence for a while. Dolls is...unsurprisingly bad at cooking eggs. The morning sunlight streams through the window, washing the room in yellows and golds. Somewhere, a bird chirps.

It’s very domestic.

“So how’s Wynonna?”

“No idea. Lucado’s being an ass, as usual, but no news is probably good news.”

“Hmmm. Getting cockblocked by the boss really has to suck.” She watches him choke with a little smile of satisfaction. “Don’t worry, Wynonna doesn’t notice the whole puppy eyes and personal karate lessons you keep offering. For the record, I think it’s adorable.”

“Yeah, we’re not talking about this.” Dolls flashes her a pearly-white smile and quickly stomps to the dishwasher with their plates. When Waverly pushes, he only scrubs harder.

They wash up in silence, and then Waverly walks him to the door, where he gives her a quick hug around the shoulders.

“Stay alert. No promises, but we’ll want to get the hell outta dodge pretty soon.”

And then he’s gone.

 

*

Waverly starts to think about leaving.

She’d go in the dead of night. Black Badge will send a bus or a truck or a horse (Doc says that was standard a hundred years ago) and to Purgatory, it’ll be like she never existed.

Wynonna says she’s taken a lighter to her old safehouses before. Burned the whole damn thing to ashes. No one would be able to tell if there’d ever been (or hadn’t been) a body.

But no—this extraction will have been a giant double failure, because in addition to not finding out anything about the weirdness going on in Purgatory, she’s gone and made the most obvious personal mistake imaginable.

Maybe she’ll leave a note. Waverly wonders if it would be more or less cruel to finish herself off with a lie.

It’d be appropriate, at least.

 

*

 

It’s a normal Purgatory afternoon when all hell breaks loose.

Nicole is visiting, trying a new hot chocolate recipe. After living alone for a while, it’s still a little startling to turn around, or look in her periphery, and see a red headed semi-stranger searching for cinnamon in her cupboards. 

“So what does your sister do?”

Waverly rolls her eyes ( _hi, Wynonna, wherever you are_ ) before turning around to face her.

“She works for the government. Accounting or something—she doesn’t talk too much about it, probably because it’s so boring.”

“Well, if she’s anything like you, I’m sure she makes the best of it.”

Nicole has her hands cupped around her mug, looking at Waverly over the rim, and when she sets it down the smallest little milk mustache remains.

Waverly laughs, can’t help reaching out with a napkin.

“Hold on—you’ve got a little—”

Nicole holds perfectly, perfectly still, and when Waverly’s done she’s startled to see a determined, slightly nervous look on Nicole’s face.

Then Waverly’s phone starts to ring.

Two things happen at once: Waverly looks down and sees Wynonna’s burn number on the caller ID, and she catches a glint of light in the window.

Something leftover from training kicks in and she immediately drops flat to the floor. An instant later, she’s showered with glass as the window right behind her head shatters. 

Nicole screams.

Wynonna’s already mid-rant as Waverly scrambles underneath the counter and presses the phone to her ear.

“—it’s Rosita, it’s Rosita! Don’t trust anything she’s told you, and get somewhere safe, Dolls is down but Doc is coming!”

“Wynonna, I’m not alone, Nicole is with me!”

...who is underneath the kitchen island too, having hit the floor a second after Waverly did. Smart woman.

She keeps the shotgun under the sink, and quickly, quickly begins to load shells into the chamber. Her hands shake so badly the phone almost slips from her grasp.

Oh God, this is happening. This is really happening.

“Who the hell is Nicole?!”

“Officer Haught—look, she’s here and if they find her, they’re gonna kill her too!” Waverly hisses. Nicole is staring at her with mouth agape, one hand gripping her still-holstered pistol. The sound of heavy boots begins thundering up the porch. “Goddamn it, it had to be Rosita, I actually liked her—”

Two men in body armor burst through the door. It takes half a second for Waverly to blast one of them in the stomach, the impact sending him stumbling backwards into his partner. Almost at the same instant, she sees the second man’s head snap back with one, two, three sickening cracks.

She turns, and Nicole has her pistol pointed where he was standing. Her eyes widen in shock, and the gun slips out of her trembling hands.

Oh, _no_.

“Waverly? Waverly, what’s going on?”

“I’m still here, we got two of them but I have no clue if there are any others. I’ve got a ride but we’re not gonna last long on an open road.”

“Head to the dead drop in the woods, Dolls and I had a plan. Get Officer Haught out of there, and get rid of this phone.” She lowers her voice and all Waverly hears are slow, unsteady breaths on the line. “Trust no one but Dolls and Doc and I. Stay smart, stay alive. I love you.”  

The phone goes dead and then it’s just Waverly and Nicole, covered in blood, the sound of gunshots still ringing in the still air. And two corpses growing cold between them.

No time. No time.

Waverly pops the back of the phone open and grinds the tip of a kitchen knife into the wiring, destroying the contents for good. She tosses the phone aside and looks up at the woman she’s suddenly, terrifyingly, responsible for.

“Nicole. We have to go.”

 

*

 

Somehow, Wynonna has finangled them directions to get overseas, by way of ocean freight, which Waverly only discovers when she and Nicole stumble their way through three miles of brush to find the dock. Waverly moves on instinct, guiding them through shadows and an emptied warehouse, handily knocking out a worker who almost catches them among the cargo containers. Nicole helps by being utterly mute, moving robotically wherever Waverly indicates. Her face stays blank as stone.

Night falls.

By the time the ship leaves, they are safely hidden in one of the massive cargo crates Wynonna has thoughtfully marked off. There is a sleeping pallet, a bug-out bag with rations and a silenced pistol. An scribbled set of coordinates that Waverly slides carefully into her pocket.

And then they’re off, nothing but the drone of engines and the heavy sway of waves slapping against the boat. The only light comes from open slots cut in the top of the container, and the moonlight casts them both in deep, dappled shadows. Nicole must be exhausted, slumped in the corner across from Waverly, but her eyes are wide open.

She still hasn’t said a word.

Waverly closes her eyes and sighs, deep. It’s been hours but it feels like weeks. Goddamn, but she is tired, but there’s something more important she needs to do.

“So. I guess you have questions.”

Nicole stares harder.

“Oooh boy, I really hope you don’t get seasick easily.” Waverly looks up at what she can see of the sky, through the metal slats above them.

“I need to feed my cat.”

Nicole still has her hands clasped tightly in front of her mouth, and the words come out so quietly, Waverly almost misses them in the sound of the sea.

“Excuse me?”

“Her name—is Calamity Jane. I haven’t fed her today, she’s gonna be hungry.”

“We just almost died and you’re worried about your cat?”

Nicole’s breath is definitely getting heavier now, and Waverly knows the signs of a panic attack when she sees one. Before she can move, though, Nicole swallows—visibly—and lunges forward, each word escaping in a harsh, furious whisper.

“Well, I just found out that I’m being hunted by Russian spies, and I just killed someone, and now we’re on the open ocean, in a shipping container! So forgive me if I’m not completely calm right now!”

Nicole’s voice has risen in pitches that would be almost funny if she doesn’t look a little like she’s been hit by a bus.

“I’m so, so sorry this happened.” Waverly scrambles to sit next to her. Her pulse is still buzzing her in ears. “Look, you ask any question and I’ll answer it. Promise.”

Nicole looks her dead in the eye. “Who are you? And don’t you lie to me—if you're capable of doing that.”

Okay. Okay, she deserved that one. 

“My name actually is Waverly Earp, if that’s what you’re asking. I work for Black Badge, a government agency that investigates foreign intelligence leaks. Think FBI but stealthier.” She winces a little. “And a little less legal. I was sent to Purgatory to track a Russian sleeper agent. Turns out, that might have been the Blacksmith—and one of own just tried to take me out too. That’s all I know.”

“So who was on the phone?”

“...That would be my sister, Wynonna. She’s involved too, more than I am.”  

Nicole absorbs that information, her jaw working furiously under the skin.

“Where are we going?”

“Um...somewhere north of Budapest? I failed most of my navigation tests but I’m pretty sure Wynonna’s sending us there, based on the coordinates.”

Waverly’s just watching her now, like she’s a spooked animal. Nicole falls silent for a long, long time, before she finally speaks again.

“So all that talk about hanging out with me, that was just...what, you trying to tail me? See if I was a spy? Getting me to give you access to the police station?”

“Um.” Waverly can’t say yes, but she can’t say no either. Rock and a hard place. “You have to believe me, I ruled you out as soon as I really got to know you. I swear it.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I never planned to hurt you.” And fuck, at the sight of a suspicious glimmer in Nicole’s eyes, Waverly’s the one tearing up now. “This was my first mission, and I had to go and drag you into this. I couldn’t help it. You were kind and welcoming and I wanted a part of that, I wanted just one...one thing that would help me get through it. I just wanted to help.”

Nicole is silent again.

“No, I understand.” Her voice is devoid of any emotion. “I should’ve known better.”

“Nicole—”

“Don’t, just—tell me what happens now.”

Waverly takes a deep breath and puts on the most confident face she can.

“We go to wherever Wynonna directed us to, and see what we can do from there. It looks like we’re heading to Hungary.” She hesitates. “And if anything’s left of Black Badge after all that shit just went down, someone will come get us. If not, we’ll figure it out.”

Nicole is giving her this awful, awful glare, eyes full of anger and betrayal and something else worse than all that, and Waverly has never seen her look so small.

“Look. I can’t stop you from bailing, but we need to stick together and just...go with whatever plan we have. Which is to keep running.”

“Well, I don’t exactly want to die.” Nicole snaps. She deflates almost as quickly, shoulders slumping, and Waverly’s chest aches as she scrubs one furious hand across her eyes. “I’ll go with you.”

And then that’s it.

The rest of the ride is spent in utter silence, as Waverly triple-checks the shipping schedule and tries in vain to doze.

At some point, she wakes. It’s still dark, gentle waves lapping at the sides of the boat, and all she can see is Nicole’s turned back. Her body shakes in restless sleep. Despite her better judgement, Waverly’s hand hovers close to Nicole’s body, an inch from the back of her head.

Just that little bit of space has never felt so insurmountable.

 

*

 

When they reach the ordained location, there are no instructions from Wynonna or Dolls or Doc, other than a single note in the PO box. _Wait_ , it says.

So they stay.

They’ve covered this situation in training before (though, admittedly, not in much detail). They have enough between them to rent out a little hovel on old farmland. Apparently it’s normally for shepherds but remains unused during the winter. Quaint and secluded.

Weirdly enough, this would be an ideal retirement plan. Just like, fifty years too early.

What isn’t easy, though, is learning to adapt to their new situation. Looking for entry and exit points of buildings. Disguises when moving in public. Never, ever letting their guard down.

Nicole still isn’t talking much. Other than to ask when she can contact her family (not yet) and if Wynonna’s called (nope) and when she can go back to Purgatory (never). The easy rapport, the flirting, that smile—all of it is gone, replaces by a awkward, tense distance that never eases. 

They adapt, because they have to. Within the week, Waverly turns to an old standby—bartending—and Nicole does odd jobs and walks dogs and takes long walks down the river. Alone.

It could almost be idyllic. If Waverly daydreams, she can almost ignore all the ways that it isn’t.

 

*

 

That whole first week, she hears sharp breaths from Nicole’s room, muffled by the door and by fabric.

It hurts. Waverly bites her knuckles and turns away.

 

*

 

They begin to breathe easier as the time passes, and there are no signs that anyone has found them.

Nicole begins to get antsy, though, and insists that she make endless laps around the tiny hovel they’ve been living in. It would be a good idea, except for the fact that they have a single pistol between them, a set of sharp kitchen knives bought at the local convenience store, and a bat.

Military ordinance, it is not. That doesn’t deter Nicole from walking around at night, patrolling the streets with her hands in her pockets and eyes jerking from one shadow to another as she pounds a tread into the dirt.

Waverly tries to dissuade her (they are, after all, still being hunted by professional assassins) but Nicole stares her down and goes out anyway.

Waverly never stops worrying.

It’s understandable that she wants her own space. They spend most of their waking moments together by necessity, learning to watch each other’s backs and checking in with tilts of the head and quick glances. When Waverly picks up work shifts Nicole is almost always there too, warm beer in front of her.

Waiting. Watching.

_We’re safe. Did you see him? Yeah, I see him. Be ready to go._

Nods and looks. Nicole’s eyes rarely leave hers.

But when they’re okay, when they’re alone, Nicole withdraws. It’s enough to give Waverly whiplash—a sad, resigned sort of whiplash. They tiptoe around each other and soon, the language they speak is one of routine.

Waverly makes extra coffee in the mornings. Nicole makes dinner and leaves the dishes in the sink. They use the bathroom in turns, turn on the (many) alarms around the house, and go to sleep at the same time.

The winter passes into spring.

 

*

 

You weren’t just a target, Waverly wants to say. This wasn’t nothing to me.

“Take a jacket.” She says instead, as Nicole rolls off the couch and moves to tug on her boots for her latest jog around the block. “It’s cold out.”

 

*

 

Then, finally, months after that day in Shorty’s and even longer in Waverly’s mind, a missive comes. Sent by a bouquet to her work, of all things.

Of course, of course Wynonna would choose to be as dramatic as possible.

It’s an address, and a little doodle of a wave.

 

*

She breaks every speed limit in existence getting to Nicole, then to a small hotel in the city proper.

Waverly takes one look at Wynonna, pacing the floor, and nearly collapses in relief.

Wynonna catches her on the way down. 

“I got you, sis. I got you.”

Tears are trickling down her cheeks, even as she wipes Waverly’s away and laughs brokenly at her grimace of snot and salt. She takes in every inch of Waverly’s face, running her hands up and down her arms, as if making sure she was real. “Oh damn, you look like a local. I knew you’d be right at home with the sheep and the goats, after all that time in Purgatory.”

Waverly cries harder.

“Don’t—don’t cry on me now that I’m here. I’m gonna get you back home, it’s all gonna be alright. I’m never letting this happen again.” Wynonna holds her closer, squeezes all the breath from her lungs.

Not that she’s able to breathe anyway. It’s just too much to absorb in one moment. She’s been shot at, shipped across the Atlantic, and had her heart broken all, and for a second it all comes crashing down on her with the force of a tsunami.

God, to think that she’d wanted this, once.

Dimly, she realizes that Nicole is standing right behind her, getting a front row seat to her mini-breakdown, and wipes her face. She reluctantly letting go of Wynonna, and turns to Nicole.

Introductions are always awkward, and this one is far and away the worst she can imagine.

“Hi. Wynonna. You—you’ve probably heard of me.”

“Yep. I’m told you’re the reason we’re here.” Nicole’s face betrays nothing. “Nicole Haught.”

“Nicole’s been taking care of me.” Waverly purses her lips, looking hard at Wynonna, who definitely went from grateful to apprehensive in a heartbeat. Don’t ask, don’t ask, just let it be. “She’s been great. More than great, actually.”

Thank god Wynonna isn’t dense, because she just takes a step back and nods at Waverly. _We’re going to talk later_ , that look says.

“We were lucky. Rosita got away, but it turns out Purgatory was a pretty common stop for defecting agents. Looks like the plan was to silence the Blacksmith, then take you down too. They would’ve wiped out the whole town if you two didn’t intervene.”

She gestures at Nicole.

“We briefed your family, Officer Haught. You’re officially a hero.”

Waverly hears Nicole’s sharp intake of breath.

“Anyway, I can brief you both later. We’ve got people watching your house, and I’ll come stay with you for tonight until we move at first light tomorrow. If that’s okay with you?” Wynonna raises an eyebrow, and to Waverly’s surprise, she’s asking Nicole.

Nicole regards her for a tense second, then nods. “That sounds good to me.”

Wynonna quickly gathers her things. While she’s distracted, Waverly take one grasping chance and squeezes Nicole’s arm gently.

_Thank you._

For the first time in a while, something like a smile ghosts across Nicole’s face.

 

*

 

Wynonna walks into the house and immediately puts her feet up on the coffee table, commenting on every visible feature, how surprisingly clean the place is, how Waverly hasn’t managed to start a fire in the kitchen yet.

Waverly can’t keep the grin off her face long enough to tell her to fuck off.

Soon, though, Wynonna announces that she needs to make some last minute checks for their trip back, and pulls Waverly into the entryway.

“Hey. What’s up with your girl?” She whispers. Nicole is upstairs.

“She’s not _my_ girl.” Waverly protests, wrapping her arms around herself. “You know, almost getting her killed and dragging her to a different country tends to put a damper on romance.”

Wynonna tsks and makes this almost-understanding sort of face. For Wynonna, anyway.

“Oh, baby girl, you got attached, and you got fucked over. That’s just a one-two punch to the face.”

Waverly sighs.

“I really—I really liked her, Wynonna. She was the only redeeming thing about Purgatory and now I’ve completely ruined her life. She’s trying to hide it but I just know she hates me.”

“Um, that girl could not take your eyes off you, it was like she was having a staring contest with the back of your head—and winning.” Wynonna gives her a pointed look. “She doesn’t hate you. Maybe she wants to, but she doesn’t.”  

Waverly really has nothing to say to that. Wynonna smiles at her, softly.

“Look, I’m going to go do a patrol and check in with Doc. I’ll be back in...say, a few hours? Hopefully that’s enough time to work something out between you and Nicole.” The smile gets decidedly more wicked. “One way or another.”

Waverly almost shoves her over the threshold.

The door closes behind Wynonna.

And then, as if summoned, Nicole walks down the rickety stairs a moment later, glancing at Waverly before heading for her boots and gun, left by the door when she made her last walk around the block.

Really?

With the distinct feeling that she should have done this ages go, Waverly finally touches her on the shoulder.

“Wynonna just headed out, you don’t need to go too. Can we talk?”

“What about?” Nicole doesn’t seem to be stopping, zipping up her jacket. “Maybe I’ll meet up with her then. Two people, half the time.”

Clearly this isn’t going to work.

“Nicole.” Waverly sets her hands on her hips, moves in front of the door to make Nicole look directly at her. “Even if we needed the protection, I’m pretty sure I’m the one who should be going out there. I should’ve been going with you this whole time.”

Nicole’s brows furrow. “Right.” Her voice turns bitter. “And you want me here, sitting around, just hoping that you and Wynonna make it back.”

“I didn’t mean that.” Waverly says, evenly. She looks up, scanning Nicole’s face. “And I think you know it.”

“Well, over the last three months or so, I’ve slowly found out that I don’t know much of anything.” Nicole turns her eyes up to the ceiling. “Seriously? You’re just gonna stand there and block me?”

“If that’s what it takes, yeah.”

Waverly watches the indecision play out on Nicole’s face, and for a second worries that she’ll physically move her out of the way, but squashes that idea immediately. That’s not the person Nicole is.

If nothing else, that part hasn’t changed.

“Can we just talk? Please? I feel like it’s long overdue.”

There is a long silence, and then Nicole just sighs like she’s releasing all the air in her body, and sags against the wall. Waverly, careful not to spook her, guides them back to the couch. Nicole sits, presses her forehead to her hands. Long red hair obscures her face, and Waverly can barely keep herself from pushing it aside.

Manages, somehow, not to kiss her right there. Nicole is so beautiful, has always been, is compassionate and brave and if she digs past the numbness of the last six months all Waverly can feel is want.

“I’ve just been...so, so helpless, for so much of this. For so long.” She pines Waverly with a look that is equal parts sadness and anger. “You and Wynonna just accept it and you deal with it and I’m just along for the ride. I need to feel useful for once. I can be, I know I can but—goddamn it!”

Nicole flings her hands up, running them hard through her hair.

Waverly's never heard her curse, not once.

“You protected me, in Purgatory.”

Nicole snorts.

“Sure, from the drunks at Shorty’s. Couldn’t do anything to stop them from killing the Blacksmith. Couldn’t keep you alive if it weren’t for Wynonna.”

“Wynonna wasn’t there with me—you were. I needed you to watch my back and you did. For months and months. That’s not nothing.”

“Oh c’mon.” She scoffs, clenches her fists. “You didn’t need me. Years of people just disappearing under my nose and I didn’t do a thing. And then you waltz in and—I thought I’d found my chance to actually make a difference.”

Long nights at the bar and in the station and at the library, looking through evidence. Waverly doesn’t miss it, but she doesn't regret it, not a bit. 

“Turns out that was a sham too."

"That's not true."

"Listen, you don't have to make me feel better about this."

“No, you listen to _me_.” Waverly pushes her shoulder so Nicole will turn and look at her. “You saved my life, back in Purgatory. But even before that, with everything you were up against, you still stayed and you tried. Without a government agency backing you up, without a Wynonna telling you what to do and how to do it. You cared enough to help me when everyone around had stopped giving a shit.”

Nicole looks a little taken aback by this speech that Waverly has somehow pulled out of thin air, but once she’s started she can’t stop.

“I couldn’t have done any of this without you. I would’ve packed it up and gone home or driven myself crazy out here. You might not believe me but—you’re the only thing that makes me brave. Not Wynonna, not Black Badge. You.”

She is completely out of breath. Waverly is full to bursting with how much she needs Nicole to hear her, but she couldn’t form the words if she tried. She can't meet Nicole's eyes, staring down at her lap as if all the answers to all their problems might appear there. 

The silence stretches on, and on, and on. 

And then-

“Oh, _Waverly_.”

Nicole says her name, just her name. The smile on her face does the rest.  

Waverly pulls Nicole to her and kisses her hard, urgently, and feels Nicole come _alive_ in her arms. Like she’s been waiting for their lips to touch, for Waverly to lock her arms around her neck and gasp into her mouth, soft lips and softer tongue meeting when they open and a low sound of pleasure escapes her. Nicole’s body seems to burn into hers, sear a slow flame over every inch of her.  

Like she was ready.

A roiling emotion bursts from Waverly’s chest, too much to hold in, and she pushes up against Nicole’s solid weight. They almost stumble, clumsy as teenagers, pushing to get closer. The couch squeaks and Waverly’s had enough. She clambers up, on top of Nicole’s body.

Finally, she find herself curtained by red hair and endless brown eyes, a hitch of breath when her hips push down, fitting perfectly. 

Nicole breaks the kiss but doesn’t go far, can't. Waverly holds her close enough so their noses brush together, unsteady breaths heavy and trembling.

“Let me—”

Nicole lifts her up like she weighs nothing, pulls her fully upward and leans her gently back so she’s on top. Takes a handful of Waverly’s waist and another of her hair and kisses her again. And again, unable to stop grinning until it finally bursts into a hot laugh on Waverly’s lips. Then she waits for _Waverly_ to laugh, and promptly kisses her senseless.

A lamp clangs to the ground and Waverly couldn’t care less.

After so long without, she needs more, more Nicole, everywhere. Her fingers scramble down that damn button up, the same kind Nicole insists on wearing a thousand miles from home, but her fingers are shaking so much that she can’t get purchase. Nicole’s fingers tangle with her own and together they pull one button apart, then two. 

Plenty.

Waverly presses her hands to the revealed skin, and slips around her collarbone, impossible softness underneath her palms. Nicole squirms against her at the touch. God, but there is just so much she wants to do right here, so much she’s been waiting to kiss and stroke and hold, if she can ever pull away from Nicole’s lips to do it.

It’s proving a harder task than she imagined.

But then—

“Wait, wait, Waverly—”

She stops, pulls back just far enough to look into Nicole’s eyes. They are both panting, hard, and Nicole is still tangled up in her, but she reaches forward and cups the side of Waverly’s face tenderly. Strokes a thumb across her cheek, then her lips.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Nicole kisses her again. Quickly, just once.

“Wynonna.”

Waverly’s head hits the back of the armrest. 

“Oh my God, I never want to hear that name ever again.”

Nicole laughs full and throaty, and more than kissing her or touching her, Waverly’s head spins with happiness at hearing it. She leans forward to touch their foreheads together, so all she sees or hears or feels is Nicole all around her. Glorious.

“I just mean that she’s around, and I don’t—I don’t want this to be the place where anything happens. We’re going to go home tomorrow, and I want every bit of you _not_ on a couch in Hungary. Without the chance of a national crisis interrupting.”

Waverly could light a fire with the heat between them, with the flush in Nicole's cheeks, with the steam that's pouring out of her own ears.

She’s right, of course she’s right.

But still, it really isn't fair. 

“Really? I finally get the nerve to kiss you, after _months_ , and you’re gonna do this to me?”

Nicole laughs again, dropping her head against Waverly’s chest so she can feel it, reverberating through her body.

“Well, if we’ve waited this long, another day can’t hurt. Is just cuddling ok?"

So they shift, and then Nicole is pressed up against her back, pulling her close, knees slotted behind her own. A soft, sweet kiss pressed to her shoulder.

She plays absentmindedly with a strand of Waverly’s hair, and Waverly’s eyes drift shut. She brings Nicole’s hand up to her lips and presses a kiss to her knuckles.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do this. Hold you." A murmur soft enough to breathe in.

Their fingers entwine.

"Since the moment I saw you in the station that day."

Waverly smiles to herself, where Nicole can't see. It feels like a whole other life by now, in the snowy woods, meeting the Deputy Sheriff. So much has changed.

“And I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“Oh, I _know_ you will. Calling in that raincheck as soon as we land.”

Then they are quiet. It’s late and Waverly feels the excitement of the day simmer into something calmer as she lays there, feeling her body slowly relax into the warmth behind her. Nicole shuffles around, and then there is a blanket being pulled around the two of them.

A soft sigh against the back of her neck.

“Waves.”

“Hmm?”

“You make me brave too.”

She turns in the warm circle of Nicole’s arms, looks at this woman beside her, earnest as a sermon. Dark eyes and golden light, all for Waverly.

The last thing she sees before she falls asleep.

 

*

 

Wynonna returns at some point. When morning comes, they are awoken when she marches down the stairs very loudly, practically running through the living room on her way out the door. Yelling something about breakfast. 

Waverly isn’t really paying attention.

But as they’re boarding the small plane, after hugs and handshakes from Jeremy and Dolls and Doc, Nicole is sitting beside her, holding her hand. A homecoming in more ways than one.

A claim, a promise.


End file.
